There's no slow fade up or flicker to life. One moment there is black, the next there is the image. A woman sits in an antique armchair upholstered in rich green velvet, dark walnut accents polished and gleaming in the light. Her pale face is framed by a cascade of dark, wild curls, chin lifted, and she looks down the length of her nose to the
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Good. good. Fight the power.
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[One who's being lied to.] I'm a prisoner. The power is the admiral. The one who brought you here.
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No matter. I will find a way out of this place. There is no prison that can hold me.
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...What?
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I expect they've told you what's happened. For what it's worth, I didn't get to refuse to have a say either.
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"When you hear the same thing over and over again, it does start to have that effect."
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